


Room To Spare

by bixgirl1



Series: Small Spaces [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Desk Sex, Humor, Jealousy, Light D/s, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, abtb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 23:04:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10292201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bixgirl1/pseuds/bixgirl1
Summary: After a one-off with Malfoy in the lift, Harry finds himself at loose ends when Malfoy doesn't join him for a follow-up.But just ask him, he's totally fine with it.Until Malfoy shows up at the office Christmas party, of course.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carpemermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpemermaid/gifts).



> All characters belong to JK Rowling and associated publishers. I just make them do naughty things for no money.
> 
> For the Anywhere But the Bed comment fest on LJ, for lq_traintracks prompt: At the office Christmas party. (Desk sex.)
> 
> And for carpemermaid for being such a wonderfully bad influence on me. :)
> 
> Unbeta-ed, so please forgive any mistakes.

Harry wasn’t _angry_ or anything. He wasn’t even disappointed. And, thanks to his little interlude in the lift with Malfoy a couple of weeks prior, no one could call him frustrated, either.

Absolutely no one.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he growled at Hermione when she asked what was bothering him. “It’s not a problem,” he told Robards who raised his eyebrows when Harry took a Junior Auror to task for not filling out his paperwork correctly. “Don’t ask if you don’t want to know,” he grumbled to Ron, who’d plucked up the courage to pester him about what had actually happened in the lift with Malfoy.

Harry was _fine_.

Malfoy was just an arse (a _tease_ ) who’d sent a vague letter about having another appointment (probably to meet another _bloke_ ) and having to cancel lunch (the _fucking_ they had tacitly agreed upon), giving no indication whether they would reschedule (not that Harry _wanted_ to, or _would_ , after Malfoy’s lack of ~~interest~~ professionalism). And Harry wasn’t bothered one whit.

In fact, his last two weeks of work had been some of the most productive of his career so far.  He’d had no bouts of accidental magic (the fact that Malfoy had mysteriously vanished had _nothing to do with it_ ), all of his paperwork was done, and he’d had so much time on his hands, he’d thrown himself into—and closed—a case involving an illegal-potions dealing ring.

And if he thought about Malfoy a little bit excessively while wanking (his breathless confession that Malfoy _noticed him too_ , the taste of Malfoy’s come in his mouth, the feel of Malfoy’s hand gripping his cock), well, that was no one’s business but Harry’s.

So, no. It wasn’t a problem or anything. An _inconvenience_ at the most. A surprising lack of _etiquette_ , maybe, because you don’t just cancel plans like that with no explanation and no attempts to reschedule. A bit of a _mystery_ , because you don’t let someone say such personal things to you—and, worse, say them back, the utter arsehole—if you don’t, maybe, _like_ the person a little and want to—to _do_ things to them.

And everything would have stayed not a problem if Hermione hadn’t insisted on dragging him to the Ministry Holiday party.

Harry hated going to events in general. If it had just been the Aurors, it would have been fine. But as he stood on the sidelines, looking at the decorations—there were about twenty different holiday trees, all dressed differently, and holly everywhere, and floating candles—he kept getting accosted by strangers who worked in other departments and had never had the chance (or had never been tipsy enough) to meet him. He tried to be nice, he really did, but his hand was getting tired from being shaken, and his smile felt like it was about to crack off his face.

And then Malfoy walked in.

Harry choked on his drink and shot a panicked look at Hermione, who looked confused before glancing over and raising her eyebrows.

Harry stared at him; he was wearing dress robes in a deep, midnight blue with silver trimmings at the cuffs and the high neck, done up with silver clasps instead of buttons, lending an old-world air to him. His skin glowed, a pale contrast to the fabric, which was tight through the chest and shoulders and arms, and seemed to shimmer subtly with every movement he made. His robes flared out slightly at the waist and draped down, split from his hipline on each side all the way to the tops of his polished shoes so Harry could see the flash of inky trousers with every stalking step he took, eyes roving.

They flicked over Harry and he stilled, then shot the other man a glare. Malfoy narrowed his eyes but kept moving, coming up beside one of the new Auror recruits standing near the refreshments and shifting close— _too fucking close_ , Harry’s brain roared wrathfully—to the other man, leaning in to say something into his ear.

There was a loud whoosh next to him, a flash of light, then the blurry sear of heat and Harry broke his stare to look over, embarrassingly unsurprised to see the fur tree he was standing next to going up in flames.

Harry growled to himself as a half dozen wizards standing close by drew their wands. He quickly cast a shield bubble around it, making sure not to do anything to disrupt the magic for fear of making it worse. The bubble, at least, would contain it until lack of oxygen killed the fire.

“It was me. Let it burn out,” he said curtly, addressing Hermione, and Ron, who had materialized out of nowhere. They both stared at him with huge eyes. “Sorry.”

He looked back over at Malfoy, who was appraising the tree thoughtfully.

So Harry fled.

It wasn’t the most Gryffindor thing to do, admittedly, but if his time at the Aurors and Hogwarts had taught him anything it was that sometimes you needed to get away fast so you could live to fight another day. He brushed through the crowd of people—surprisingly few seemed to have noticed the tree practically exploding, although they were certainly aware enough of his stormy expression to leave him the hell alone—and strode down the darkened halls of the Ministry, heading straight to his office to shut himself inside. He threw himself face down on his small sofa and groaned into the musty cushions, legs dangling off the side.

Malfoy was just so _infuriating._ And gorgeous. And fantastic at getting Harry off, apparently, which made everything about a thousand times worse because before he’d known, it had just been this stupid little fantasy that was easy to—mostly—ignore when Malfoy wasn’t around. It was just, how could he not—after they had—and then not even—

He made a muffled noise of frustration into the fabric pressing against his face, breaking off when he heard the click of his door opening and closing behind him.

“Ron, I don’t really—”

“Now _that_ ,” Malfoy interrupted, sounding satisfied, “was an interesting little display.”

Harry lifted his face off the couch and glared at him. “Get out.”

Malfoy leaned against the door, a smile playing with his mouth. He looked devious and sexy and Harry hated him with the kind of lust that even a lack of oxygen couldn’t burn out.

Well. Maybe hate was the wrong word.

“I don’t think you want me to,” Malfoy said after a moment. “I think you’d prefer me right here.”

Harry sat up, scowling. He straightened his glasses an pointed his wand at a corner lamp; it flickered to life dimly, casting light and shadows. “I would have preferred you right here two weeks ago, you little shit. Now get the fuck out.”

“I had business to attend to,” Malfoy griped, letting a sneer slide over his perfect, pointy features. “And it’s not like you owled me back.”

“You had _business_ ,” Harry echoed flatly.

“ _Some_ of us,” Malfoy continued significantly, “can’t get away with doing whatever we want. Our jobs—should we desire to keep them and even if we don’t—occasionally require us to actually work.”

Harry frowned, heart picking up tempo. “Where the hell have you been, then? You haven’t been around the Ministry. Doesn’t sound much like work, to me, if it’s not—you know—at work.”

Malfoy’s eyes darkened. “Why, Potter, have you been looking for me?” he said smugly.

“No,” Harry lied shortly, but he sat back more comfortably anyway, spreading his thighs to accommodate his slowly swelling cock as he surveyed the other man. His mind clicked oddly into work mode—something it had never done for him in regards to his personal life, and certainly never around Malfoy. Supposition aligned with facts and he examined them briefly like reading a case file.

Apparently, Malfoy had been expecting a return owl, in which case his letter hadn’t been a brush off.

Malfoy, from what Harry could divine from his snooping during the past two weeks, had a boss in the financials division who didn’t entirely like having a former Death Eater working for him, so it was reasonable to assume that he _had_ been required to work that day.

Malfoy had deflected his question about where he’d been for the last couple of weeks, but Harry was willing to deal with that later because it brought him to the most important fact of the night:

Malfoy was here.

He was here in Harry’s office, and they were alone, and Harry _still fucking wanted him_.

Malfoy seemed vaguely unnerved by Harry’s silence. His throat worked above his collar, and he glanced away, looking around. “Your office is atrocious,” he finally said when Harry didn’t speak. “I wish I could be more surprised, but really.”

“It’ll serve our purposes,” Harry murmured calmly, and Malfoy’s eyes widened, skewing back over to him.

He gave a weak laugh. “And what would those be, Potter?”

“I think you know.”

“I j-just came in here to—”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said firmly, feeling a rush of satisfaction when Malfoy pressed his lips together tightly. “You know, I was really expecting to do this several days ago,” he added conversationally. “So I think you owe me now.”

Malfoy glowered at him. “If you think I’m going to take orders from such a _virgin_ —”

Harry chuckled. He reached down and adjusted his cock with one hand, which was pressing insistently against the front of his trousers, and Malfoy’s gaze followed his movement. “I’m not a virgin, Malfoy. I’ve just never had sex with men before.”

“You don’t even know how to suck cock, Potter.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with the way I did things a couple of weeks ago, if I remember correctly,” Harry pointed out mildly. He pressed the heel of his hand to his erection, giving it a distracted stroke through the fabric, then began unbuttoning his robes slowly, spreading them out like wings against the couch when they were undone. Malfoy’s eyes flared with heat. “I’m a quick learner, and I know how to read. Just because it’s the first time I’ll be fucking you doesn’t mean it won’t be good.”

Malfoy made a strangled sound. His hand found the doorknob behind him, but he made no move to open it. “Malfoys don’t bottom, Potter.”

“You will this time,” Harry promised, feeling strangely confident. “Now come over here and feel lucky I’m not going to spank you for not explaining yourself.”

“ _Potter_ ,” he hissed furiously in reprimand, but his pale cheeks flooded with colour and there was an undeniable flicker of interest on his face. His breath came faster, chest heaving lightly against his tight robes. He took a halting step forward without seeming to realize it, and then stalled, glancing back at the door.

“ _Come here_ ,” Harry repeated, barely recognizing the command in his own voice. Malfoy swallowed hard then straightened up, squaring his shoulders. He pinned Harry with a narrow, imperious look, eyes dark in the dim of the room, and walked closer, stopping between Harry’s spread legs.

“And now?”

Harry leered at him, pulse beating wildly in his wrists and throat and prick, and took a second to get his bearings. Malfoy’s robes were looser from the waist down, but not so loose that they disguised the slight tenting at his groin. Harry snagged the fabric between two fingers—it was soft, like velvet—and tugged him closer.

Huffing with indignation, Malfoy shuffled as near as he could get, and then rolled his eyes in an exaggerated gesture. He caught up the front of his robes in both hands, lifting them out of way, and then climbed on top of Harry, straddling him where he sat.

Their faces were suddenly too close; Malfoy’s breath was cool and minty, and Harry breathed it in. “Not what I had in mind,” he admitted roughly as Malfoy made a filthy little movement of his hips on top of him. “But it’ll do.”

“Fuck you, Potter,” Malfoy said bitterly, then kissed him.

The kiss was as dirty as Malfoy’s robes were pristine. Their tongues tangled and Harry grabbed him around the waist, pulling him closer as Malfoy wriggled on top of him, pumping his hips upward, giving a stifled moan when he felt his prick brush against Malfoy’s. Harry pulled out of the kiss and buried his face in the crook of Malfoy’s neck, just under his jaw, licking at the smooth skin there, trailing his tongue up the cords standing out against Malfoy’s throat. He bit down gently, then harder, smiling meanly as Malfoy panted and writhed above him. He sucked hard then pulled his lips away with a panting sound, staring with satisfaction at the way he’d marred the other man.

Malfoy dipped his head low again, planting his mouth on Harry’s, teeth sharp and uncompromising as he bit down in retribution on Harry’s lower lip, then licking it in what felt like apology. Harry’s hands fumbled for Malfoy’s clasps. They were metal and fabric together, strangely complicated little loops that he couldn’t figure out how to undo, and so he skimmed his hand down Malfoy’s chest wordlessly and they fell open, revealing the pale expanse of his chest and stomach. M

alfoy yanked his head back, blinking in astonishment. Harry grinned a little, then shoved the sleek material off Malfoy’s shoulders and began working on his trousers, dipping his hand inside after managing to pull the zipper down.

“Not wearing pants again?” Harry muttered gruffly, pulling Malfoy’s cock free.  The other man groaned, raspy, as Harry eased his foreskin back with his fingertips, then rubbed at the pearl of fluid that appeared at his slit.

Malfoy grabbed his shirt, yanking at it gracelessly, buttons flying everywhere, and Harry let go of him briefly to shrug out of it and his robes. Like a lodestone, Malfoy’s erection drew his hand again and he closed his fist around it, giving it a long pull. Malfoy bucked a bit, hands clumsy on Harry’s flies, and Harry scooted down a bit to aid him, hand working steadily over Malfoy’s shaft.

“You should have owled me back,” Malfoy mumbled crossly.

Harry dragged his eyes away from watching Malfoy’s cock throb and redden in his grip to look at the him in surprise. “I thought…”

Malfoy glared at him, stuffing his hand into Harry’s trousers. “Obviously not.”

And then Malfoy’s hand was wrapping around him too, tight and sure, his palm and fingers jerking roughly, and Harry exhaled sharply, head falling back against the couch for a second, Malfoy’s cock hard and burning in his clutch.

They stroked each other in tandem. Malfoy worked a little more quickly, fingers a blur over Harry’s skin; Harry used smoother strokes, tight enough to cause the flush of pink to darken at the crown of Malfoy’s prick, and the visual was almost too much because he wasn’t done yet and still he felt his balls draw up, tingling from tension and pleasure. With as much control as he had left, Harry released Malfoy and placed a warning hand on his wrist.

Malfoy’s face was tight; his cock was leaking liberally and he gave Harry such a plaintive look that Harry almost laughed. Instead, he jerked his head toward his desk. “I want to fuck you.”

The hand on him finally faltered, stilled, and Malfoy worried his lip between his teeth for a moment. “There are a hundred people one hall over.”

“They’re not here,” Harry said unevenly. “C’mon.”

Malfoy grimaced half-heartedly; he shot Harry another worried look through long, pale lashes, but climbed off of him, his cock bouncing a little as his trousers gaped open. Harry reached out and tugged them down farther, nuzzling his erection as he did, darting his tongue at it as it bumped the corner of his mouth while he dragged the trousers from Malfoy’s legs, making his breath catch. They pooled awkwardly at his ankles, and Malfoy toed off his shoes quickly, then fumbled with his socks. Harry rose off the sofa, shedding his clothing as well, and then there was nothing but a shaft of moonlight between them.

Malfoy stood there as Harry perused him, his grey eyes dropping lower as he catalogued Harry’s body. Harry felt like he should be embarrassed or want to cover up, but he didn’t; everywhere Malfoy looked at him felt like a lick of vivid heat. Malfoy’s body, too, was a sight to behold. While clothing highlighted the angles of his body, making him appear skinny, he was really more slender than anything; his muscles were subtle but well defined, his stomach flat, his shoulders wide. His nipples dark and tight, and his cock was flushed and curved out slightly to the left. He looked achingly hard; the weight of his erection pulled it down, causing it to bob.

Then Harry couldn’t be sure who moved first, but suddenly they were kissing again, slick and hot, and his hands came up to tangle in Malfoy’s silky hair. He kissed Malfoy hungrily, unendingly, walking him backward toward his desk until his arse bumped into it. Malfoy muttered Harry’s name into his mouth and Harry drew his arms around his waist tighter, pressing their bodies close. Malfoy reached between them and lined up their cocks, skin against skin, and Harry felt dizzy from desire and lack of oxygen as he panted and sucked at Malfoy’s lips and thrust his tongue into his mouth, tasting mint and want and something so inherently _Malfoy_ that he shuddered against the other man.

Malfoy’s hands gripped his arse, massaging it with his palms, and then inched his head back breathlessly. “Do you have any—”

Harry Summoned the lube that had been waiting in his desk drawer for the last two weeks and caught it nimbly. Malfoy’s eyes dilated, the silver disappearing into a faint rim around his pupils, and he gave Harry a little shove off him, then walked around to the front of his desk, bending over it, and placed his hands flat on the surface.  He looked at Harry challengingly.

Harry’s breath gusted out. He circled the desk, prowling toward the other man, approaching him from behind, then pushed his knee between Malfoy’s thighs to spread them further, and stared down at the long line of Malfoy’s back, the dip of his spine, the shadow of his crevice.

His cock throbbed.

With shaking hands, Harry opened the little jar and dipped his fingers inside, coating them with the slick gel. If one good thing had come from this delay, it was that Harry had had plenty of time to do some much-needed research, but he still felt a sudden jolt of anxiety coil in his midsection. Or maybe it was just anticipation; he couldn’t really be bothered to tell.

He laid his free hand flat on the small of Malfoy’s back, then stroked it lower, gripping a handful of flesh to open his arse cheeks wide. He swallowed hard; Malfoy’s furled little hole was pink and _tiny,_ so small Harry almost came right there, just looking at it. With one fingertip, he reached down, stroking the soft skin above it, then traced the rim lightly. Malfoy gave a little sigh, then wiggled his arse in a tempting fashion, so Harry moved his hand down, circling the wrinkled bit of flesh with his thumb, fingers ghosting over Malfoy’s perineum. He pressed harder against Malfoy’s hole, massaging the muscle there, surprised when the tip of his thumb slipped inside.

Malfoy gasped, turning his head to the side. His jaw was clenched tight, bunching. “Are you going to _do_ anything?”

“Yeah,” Harry said thickly, licking his lips. He pushed his thumb deeper, pulling out a bit when Malfoy tightened up around it, then forcing it down to the knuckle, shifting it slowly when it was embedded as far as it could go, putting more pressure on the sensitive skin under his fingertips as he did so. The muscles in Malfoy’s back tensed; his fingers curled, and he slid down further, propping himself on his forearms.

The angle was awkward. Harry gazed down thoughtfully as he moved his moved his thumb inside Malfoy. He removed it carefully, then slid his hand further up and replaced it with two fingers, stroking Malfoy lightly in warning before he slid them inside. Malfoy mewled, arching back into the sensation, the motion causing Harry’s fingers to go deeper than he’d intended but he followed Malfoy’s silent entreaty and screwed them in until his knuckles were resting tight against the inside of Malfoy’s arse cheek.

“ _Yes_ ,” Malfoy moaned. “ _Like that_.”

Harry pulled his fingers back then shoved them back in; they made obscene little squelching noises that for some reason didn’t turn him off in the slightest. He moved them faster, scissoring them and twisting them downward, and smiled with feral triumph when Malfoy cried out, bucking back toward him. Harry stroked the spot again, rubbing against it inelegantly, but Malfoy didn’t seem to care—he lifted one of his arms off the table, leaning heavily to one side, and reached down to begin working on his cock. Harry felt a noise, strange and deep, escape his throat.

“I need to get inside you now,” he muttered, pulling his fingers out too quickly, lining up behind Malfoy. Malfoy nodded, blond hair flying. He let go of himself, balancing precariously, then reached back with both hands and opened his cheeks wider for Harry, who felt suddenly quite like weeping from sheer desperation.

Harry rubbed the dripping head of his prick against Malfoy’s entrance, which was slick and shiny and puffy from use. Malfoy made that weird little kitten sound again, and Harry’s heart stammered, thrumming wildly in his chest as he took hold of the base of his erection and began easing inside.

The head of his cock popped into Malfoy’s passage easily, tight and distracting, but then Harry found he could go no further. All of his confidence bled away for a moment, even as he pushed his hips forward, seeking more.

“Malfoy?” he asked uncertainly.

Malfoy panted. He let go of his cheeks and leaned against his forearms again. “Just—wait for a second, Potter.”

Inhaling sharply, Harry did. Then Malfoy’s body just _relaxed_ , lovely and surprising, and Harry’s pressing cock breached him fully. He worked his way in slowly, down to the hilt until his balls butting against the round curve of Malfoy's arse. He waited another minute, struggling to breathe, until Malfoy suddenly squirmed under him, around him, and Harry lost control, his hips rocking forward in short, quick pumps, instinctively picking up same pattern of movements of his fingers.

He leaned back, dragging his cock partway out—Malfoy’s inner muscles clung to him sweetly, tight and silky from lube—and then snapped forward, burying himself as deep as he could go. Malfoy’s back curved up, glistening with sweat, and Harry draped himself over it, adjusting his angle, coming up higher on the balls of his toes as he thrust in unrelentingly. The other man made a garbled, low-pitched sound of encouragement, pistoning his hips backward, the sound of slapping flesh filling the air, the scent of sex heavy and rich around them as Harry’s balls became tight and pleasure gathered at the base of his spine.  He reached around and put his hand, still oily with lubricant, over Malfoy’s, stroking his cock tightly.

And then there were voices.

The low conversation filtered through Harry’s hazy mind as it got closer; a light, feminine tone and a deeper, louder one. He stilled, ignoring Malfoy’s “ _uuuhh, Potter, you fuck, why_!” of complaint.

“Someone’s coming,” he whispered.

Malfoy jerked his head up; his hair brushed against Harry’s ear as they leaned together and watched the door, waiting for the people to pass. Harry reached his hand out and focused on the lock, hearing a quiet snick for his effort.  The conversation paused and footsteps stopped outside his door. Harry dropped his forehead onto Malfoy’s shoulder.

“Harry?” Hermione asked. The doorknob rattled. “It’s _okay_. No one’s mad. The fire is out. Are you all right?”

Malfoy inched his arse back again with a quiet snicker. Harry clapped his free hand over Malfoy’s mouth, and Malfoy—the absolute _wanker_ —leaned back a little, sucking two of Harry’s fingers into the wet heat of it, startling him into a groan.

“Harry?” Ron this time. He sounded the concerned. The doorknob moved again, with more force. “Are you okay?”

Malfoy clenched his hole.

“I’m fine!” Harry squeaked out. He cleared his throat, trying again. “I’m fine! Just need to be alone for a while.”

Hermione said something Harry couldn’t hear and then Ron’s voice got louder. “Harry, this isn’t—just come back to the party, mate.”  They started talking in quiet voices again.

Malfoy huffed a soft laugh through Harry’s fingers, which he continued sucking on teasingly. He pitched his hips backward again, with more force, and the hand on his cock covered Harry’s, guiding it down and back up. Harry yanked his fingers from Malfoy’s mouth and vengefully smacked his palm down, hard enough to sting, on the pale skin of Malfoy’s buttock. The sound was far louder than he intended, and made worse by Malfoy’s ragged moan of approval.

The voices fell silent, then resumed. Hermione sounded amused; Ron, outraged.

“Is _that_ —that had _better not be_ —Harry, I _swear_ —if that’s _Malfoy_ —Harry _STOP IT_!” he yelled, his voice gaining speed and volume with every word.

It was too much; Malfoy surrounding him, vice-like and hot, his hair in Harry’s face, the rumble of his quiet laugh shaking his back. Harry rolled his hips, gave them a swivel, and then rocked forward hard. “Go away, Ron!” he called, voice strangled. “You too, Hermione,” he added as an afterthought, and began fucking Malfoy in earnest again.

“But it’s Malfoy!” he heard Ron argue to Hermione as their voices floated away from the door.

Harry grunted as his hips jerked; his hand squeezed the base of Malfoy’s cock again, stroking down toward the head, thumbing at the slit. Then he tugged his closed fist around Malfoy’s prick in quick motions, trying to time it with every rut of his cock deeper into the other man and Malfoy arched again, his back bowing away from Harry’s chest, shoulders high and tight, and came over Harry’s fingers, splattering them with warm, sticky fluid which dripped over his knuckles.  His arse tightened unbearably, convulsively, around Harry’s prick and Harry fucked him through it, his whole body shaking as his shaft began to pulse with release, and then he was coming too, flooding Malfoy with spunk which, if anything, made every thrust feel hotter and silkier as he rode out his orgasm, not stopping until every drop was drained.

They rested together for a few minutes. Malfoy wheezed hard, trying to catch his breath, and Harry could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.

He pulled out slowly, letting himself collapse into his desk chair as Malfoy turned around to look at him, leaning against the edge of the desk with a wince. He didn’t seem remotely bothered by his nudity.

“Is your arse okay?” Harry asked eventually.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Are you referring to the spank or the fuck, Potter?”

Harry snorted. “Either. Both, I guess.”

Malfoy shifted. “Sore is normal for the fuck. Or so I’ve heard. Like I said, Malfoys don’t…”

“Bottom,” Harry supplied with a smirk. “I remember.”

Malfoy glared at him, then continued. “The spank was…” He bit his lip, flushing, then looked away and said lightly, “You suck as a dom.”

Harry grinned. He reached out and grabbed one of Malfoy’s hands, tugging him closer until he was sitting—rather begrudgingly for after sex, Harry thought—in his lap, then cast a quick cleaning charm over both of them.

“This is weird,” Malfoy blurted abruptly a minute into their cuddle, moving as if to stand.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, but didn’t let go of him. After a moment, Malfoy subsided, if a bit stiffly. Harry frowned as a thought occurred to him. “Who was that bloke you were talking to at the party?”

Malfoy hesitated. “I’ve been assigned to work with some of the goblins over at Gringott’s for the last couple of weeks and I met a wizard in Financial Analysis that offered me a job. That was his son. I was asking him to tell his father that I’d be there in the morning for the interview. I can’t stand working here anymore, no matter the drawbacks of leaving.”

Harry looked at him, surprised at Malfoy’s honesty and unsure what to say. Malfoy’s boss was a notorious prat, though, so— “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” He paused, voice growing sly. “Were you jealous?”

“Of course not,” Harry scoffed, trying not to squeeze his waist tighter.

“You set a tree on fire.”

“That was an _accident_ ,” Harry muttered. “It had nothing to do with you.”

Malfoy snickered. “Keep telling people that, Potter. Someone is bound to believe it.”

“So,” Harry said, trying for casual and failing miserably, “you really _have_ been busy the last couple of weeks.”

“Yes,” Malfoy clipped out. “Although I feel the need to remind you—again—that I’m not the only one who can owl. At least I had the courtesy to cancel on you appropriately, after which you could have taken the unspoken invitation to contact me again.”

A strange urge to kiss Malfoy’s shoulder filled the pit of Harry’s stomach; he blushed a bit and then gave a mental _fuck it_ before pressing his mouth to the pale curve of skin.

Malfoy glanced down at him again, startled. “Your friends don’t like me,” he warned.

“Ron doesn’t like you,” Harry corrected. “Hermione will be easier. But, well, _I_ like you.”

“Why?” Malfoy asked on a breath. He closed his eyes.

“Why do you like me?” Harry returned.

“Who says I do?” Malfoy parried. Harry laughed, and Malfoy’s mouth curved up in a little smile that made him look younger. “Maybe your obsession with sex in strange places simply got me curious.”

“Hey, at least this time there was more room,” Harry defended, stroking his hand over Malfoy’s ribcage, then lower. Malfoy shivered.

“Wasn’t that comfortable, though,” Malfoy grumbled.

“Don’t worry,” Harry murmured, “I’ll let you top, sometime.”

“ _Let_ me? _Sometime_?” He frowned. “I meant the desk.”

“Oh.” Harry grinned unrepentantly. “I have a bed at home.”

“Let me guess,” Malfoy sneered in a way that Harry was rapidly beginning to find delightful. “It’s a twin.”

“Do you want me to show you?”

Malfoy looked at him, expression faltering like a mask falling away, revealing something beautiful underneath. He opened his legs wider and arched into Harry’s searching hand.

“Yes,” he murmured. “But it had better be big.”

“Malfoy,” Harry said seriously, trying not to smile as his hand found Malfoy’s cock, “I promise. It has room to spare.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are lovely.


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